The Smoking Iron (11 page)

A shadow crossed the Mexican's face. “They come sometimes,” he admitted stiffly. They had the harness off the palominos and hung on wooden pegs in the wall. He stripped the bridles off and stepped aside to let the horses trot past him through the barn and out the back door to a feeding pen.

“But they don't do much good, huh?” Dusty drawled.

“I theenk,
señor
, they are not want to do the good. I theenk maybe they make, what you call it, the pretend for try.”

Dusty nodded and mused, “Pullin' the wool over her eyes so she won't hire no real gunhands while the rustlin' goes on till she gets plumb desprit.” He drew in a deep breath. “I reckon it's in the cards for me to have a talk with Mister Boxley.”

“He ees bad man weeth gun,
Señor
Dusty.”

“Fast, huh?”

“
Sí. Muy pronto
. He 'ave kill
todos los hombres
w'at 'ave try for shoot weeth heem.”

The gentle ringing of a bell drifted down to them from the house. “That ees Juana for say deener ees ready,” Miguel told him.

Dusty said, “Yeh.” He started away, hesitated and turned back. “Is there a extra rig here I can borrow?”

“A saddle? Only the wan of
Señor
Rollins.”

“I'll ride it,” Dusty told him. “Get me up a good hawse for after dinner.”

He turned and went out of the barn, up the shaded path between the double row of poplars toward the house.

He hesitated at the path leading up to the front door, circled around the rear instead. Beside the kitchen door he found a bucket of fresh water set out on a long bench beside a washpan, with a clean towel hanging from a nail above it.

He filled the pan and stripped off Ben Thurston's striped shirt, doused his head and arms in the water and went to work with a bar of yellow soap.

After sloshing a great deal of water about, he dried himself with the towel and picked tip the shirt again. He stared at it with loathing, wishing he didn't have to put it on again, when he heard the kitchen door.

He turned and blushed a deep scarlet when he saw Katie coming toward him. She smiled at his discomfiture and told him, “I've seen men in their undershirts before. The hands always lined up here to wash before supper. Here.” She offered him a little bundle of gray cotton cloth. “It's one of dad's old shirts. I … saw you looking at that one as though you were afraid it would bite you,” she went on quickly.

Dusty dropped the striped shirt and took the one she offered him. “A man gets sick of wearin' a thing like that in a hurry,” he admitted. “It's shore nice of you to get me out this one.”

“You won't be quite so conspicious.” Katie turned away. “Come in as soon as you're ready. Juana has dinner on the table.”

Dusty slid his arms into the sleeves and pulled the shirt over his head. It was a little large for him, but felt mighty good after the constricting tightness of the gaudy thing he had just discarded.

Juana was a fat and beaming Mexican woman not more than half her husband's age. She opened the kitchen door for Dusty and led him down a short hall to a large room next to the kitchen. There was a small table set for two under wide windows at the end of the room. The table was covered with a gay red and white cloth and there was a bowl of yellow daisies in the center.

Katie Rollins smiled at him from one of the two chairs and said, “Juana will be angry if you don't sit down and eat while everything's hot.”

Dusty went across the room awkwardly and pulled out the chair opposite the mistress of the K T ranch. “I didn't expect nothin' like this,” he protested, “I'm more usta squattin' on my heels and eatin' out of a tin plate.”

Katie said, “It gets terribly lonesome. We all used to eat together. Dad and I and the men.” She put a large steak on his plate and pushed a bowl of mashed potatoes closer, urging him. “Take plenty of everything. Juana always cooks enough for a dozen range hands.”

There was creamed gravy and boiled carrots, fluffy biscuits and a large pat of yellow butter. When he began eating Dusty was glad there was plenty of everything. He remembered that he hadn't eaten any supper in Marfa the night before. He'd been too busy drinking and making a play for Rosa. The recollection shamed him, and he kept his head down and devoted his attention entirely to the job of his stomach.

When he had gotten down to biscuits and honey along with his third cup of coffee, he began to slow up and he apologized to his hostess. “I reckon I've been eatin' like a wolf, ma'm, but I missed a couple of meals an' yore cook shore does make everything taste good.”

“I like to see a man enjoy his food,” Katie told him simply. She leaned her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. “And I want to thank you for the way you offered to help me this morning … even though I can't accept your offer.” She paused to draw in a long breath. “I know when I'm licked. I'm going to sell the Katie.”

“Made up yore mind sudden, ain't you?” Dusty set his empty coffee cup down and leaned back to roll a cigarette.

“It's a decision I've been coming to for a long time. I should have done it soon after father died. If I hold out much longer I won't have anything to sell.”

Dusty said, “I was hopin' you'd let me try my hand.”

“No.” Katie shuddered. “It would mean killing.”

“I reckon it would.”

“No one man can possibly do anything,” she went on as though she argued with herself. “I've had half a dozen Excel men from here for days at a time and the rustling went right on.”

“Maybe they didn't try very hard.” Dusty had his cigarette rolled. He put fire to it.

“What … do you mean by that?” Katie's face had gone a little white.

“I wouldn't trust Boxley no further than I could throw a bull by the tail, Miss Katie. Can't you see that maybe he don't
want
the rustling to stop.”

She said, “That's a terrible thing to say. You hardly know Lon at all.”

“I know him plenty good enough,” Dusty reminded her grimly. “Any man that brags about his slick draw an' then shoots when a man ain't lookin' is liable to do anything.”

Katie compressed her lips. “You struck him without warning.”

“I was standin' in front of him. I shucked off my coat. It wasn't my fault if he didn't know what was comin'.”

“This argument is useless.” Katie's voice trembled a little. “I'm going to give you dad's old saddle and a horse. I want you to ride on off the Katie this afternoon.”

“You
shore
you want me to?” Dusty asked softly.

“Yes. Before something happens. I'm afraid Lon will come and catch you here.”

“I can take care of Lon.”

“No.” Katie rose swiftly and turned to the windows, staring out. “I won't have any killing. Not on the Katie. I'll sell out first.”

“To Boxley?”

She whirled on him angrily. “Perhaps. If he'll pay my price. Or I might marry him … and keep the Katie.”

Dusty laughed mirthlessly. “That would fix everything … the way Lon Boxley wants it.”

Katie turned back to the window. He saw her slender body stiffen. She said, “There's … I think that's Lon coming now.”

Dusty got up to look out over her shoulder. A lone rider was galloping toward the ranch.

She said, “It
is
Lon,” in a choked voice.

Dusty was looking down at the curling tendrils of brown hair at the back of her neck. He was standing very close to her. He said, “This is a good time for a showdown.”

“No.” Katie's body brushed against him as she turned. He did not move but looked down at her gravely. The bosom of her woolen shirt lifted and fell with her rapid breathing, and her eyes were dilated.

“He mustn't know you're here,” she cried. “You'll have to hide. I'll talk to him.”

“Why no,” said Dusty. “I ain't in the habit of hiding, Katie.”

With a start he realized that he'd called her by her first name. Just plain straight out without any Miss in front of it.

But she didn't seem to notice, or she didn't mind. “I won't let you meet him,” she cried out. They could hear the hoofbeats of Lon's horse now.

“It's bound to come,” Dusty told her. “Sooner or later. I'm stayin' here in the Big Bend.”

“Please,” Katie implored him. “Stay right here. Let me handle him.” She started to go past Dusty.

He put out his arm to stop her. “Are you afraid I'll kill him? Is that it, Katie?”

“Afraid for him?” She laughed shakily. Lon's horse was slowing as he neared the house. “He's killed every man that ever went up against him,” she cried out fiercely. “Can't you understand that?”

“Are you afraid of what'll happen to me?” His voice was deep and purposeful. He still barred her way out of the room.

“I don't want any man killed. Not on my ranch.” She avoided his eyes.

He said, “That's no good reason for me hidin' here,” turned and started away.

“Wait,” Katie cried wretchedly. He turned and surprised tears in her eyes. She brushed them away with the back of her hand. “Isn't it enough that I'm begging you not to go out there to face him?”

Dusty said, “I reckon it is.” His voice was humble. He dropped into one of the chairs at the table. “I won't make any more bother.”

There was a loud knocking on the front door. They could hear Juana waddling down the hall to answer it. Katie said breathlessly, “Stay right here and be quiet.” She sped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Dusty got out his cigarette papers and carefully creased one. He poured tobacco into the crease and his fingers tore the paper as he tried to roll it. He could hear the faint sound of voices in the front of the house. He tried hard not to listen. He went to work on another cigarette paper and tore that one also, then gave it up. He could still hear the voices out front.

He broke a biscuit and buttered it. He forced himself to eat it slowly, wiping out the last traces of honey in his plate.

He wouldn't let himself think about Lon Boxley. He had promised Katie that he would remain quiet and let her handle the man.

The sound of voices stopped after a time. He waited to hear the hoofbeats of Boxley's horse going away. But there was only silence.

He rolled a cigarette without mutilating the paper, and lit it. He smoked it very slowly, savoring the smoke and making the cigarette last.

Waiting became intolerable. But he had promised Katie. He strained his ears for some indication of what was taking place beyond the closed door, but could not hear a sound.

He smoked the cigarette down to a tiny nubbin that burned his fingertips, and then dropped it in his coffee cup. He hadn't heard Boxley ride away. And certainly Katie would come to tell him as soon as the man left. No. The neighboring rancher must still be here at the K T.

He cursed himself for having promised her and then grew angry at Katie for making him promise. What had her last remark meant? When she asked him if it wasn't enough that she was begging him not to go out.

At that moment, he had thought … Hell! He didn't know what he had thought. The sight of tears in her eyes had unnerved him temporarily.

He rolled another cigarette. He smoked this one swiftly, taking long nervous drags on it and pulling the smoke deep into his lungs. He knew he couldn't sit still much longer. No man could. Not without knowing what was going on.

He jerked around and came half out of the chair when he heard the door open. He saw the fat body of Juana instead of the girl he expected to see.

The Mexican woman was beaming placidly. She came to the table and started to stack up the dishes. Dusty asked her, “Where's Miss Katie? And her company?”

Juana looked at him in surprise and rounded her eyes. “She is go with
Señor
Boxley. She is not tell you, no?”

Dusty said, “No.” His voice sounded far-away in his own ears. There was a queer drumming in his head. He pushed his chair back carefully and got up. He said gruffly, “Thanks for a good dinner,” and then stalked out.

He went around to the front of the house and saw that Boxley's horse was gone. There was no indication of life around the outside of the ranch or the outbuildings.

He walked stiffly toward the barn. The only way was not to do any thinking. Just keep yore mind a blank, you damned fool. A man didn't have to think if he willed his mind to be a blank. He'd be all right as long as he didn't think.

As he neared the barn, Miguel came out to meet him, leading a saddled black horse. The old Mexican looked troubled and his voice was deep with sadness as he explained, “Mees Katie ees tal me you weel not to stay. I am saddle thees horse for you to ride. She ees tal me to say Boracho ees yonder,
señor.
” He gestured vaguely toward the Rio Grande.

Dusty nodded curtly. “You saddled a hawse for her, I reckon?”

“
Sí señor
. She ees ride weeth the
Señor
Boxley.” Miguel turned his head to spit on the ground. He extended the bridle reins to Dusty.

Dusty took the reins and threw one over the black's neck. He tested the stirrups and found them about the right length, swung into the saddle. He nodded good-by to Miguel and reined the black around in the indicated direction of Boracho, cesspool of the Big Bend, gathering place of fugitives and outlaws of all races.

He put the black to a lope and rode away from the K T ranch without looking back.

10

In the Lone Star Hotel in Marfa, Pat Stevens grinned at Ezra with irritating calm when the big, one-eyed man grumbled about this newest complication after being told the sheriff was dead with a bullet in his back.

“A man'd think you didn't like messes,” Pat told him.